The Angel of the Gila Part 49

And Esther Bright listened. Her heart, stirred to sudden anger by the stories of injustice and cruel wrong, was soothed into quiet by this slumber song of the ages. Oh, the music of the waters of the canyon!

How, once heard, it echoes in the heart forever! In the midst of the unrest and discord of the world, how the memory of it keeps one close to the very heart of things! How it lingers! How it sings!

They drove under, then around, an overhanging rock, beyond which, like ruins of ancient castles, storm-scarred, majestic, towered cliffs to a height of a thousand feet or more. The shadows had deepened in the canyon, adding to the solemn grandeur of it all. From every cleft of rock, apparently, a cactus had sprung into life, and had blossomed into flowers of exquisite beauty. All the journey was like a triumphal way, garlanded with flowers.

At last they reached an open place in the canyon, and followed a track leading upward to a level plain. A short drive up a rocky way brought them to a vast mesa. Here they halted for the night.

Some distance to the west, Esther spied a covered wagon with horses tethered near. There was a man busying himself about the wagon, and about the bonfire. John Clayton explained to Esther that this was the cook for the squads of cowboys, and that near where the man was working, the men would camp for the night. She watched the movements of the cook with some curiosity.

The Clayton party had now stepped from the surrey, and removed from it the seats, blankets, and provisions. The two men returned to the canyon to gather dry driftwood for their fire for the night.

During the ride of the afternoon, as the company had wound around the foothills, they had seen great herds of cattle, thousands of cattle, on the hills and mesas. But now, Esther was to see with her own eyes, the great event of life on the range. This vast out-of-doors was all so novel to her, so intensely interesting! She stood and drew in great breaths of air. Her eyes darkened. The pupils of her eyes had a way of dilating whenever she felt deeply.

Although the cowboys and cowla.s.ses had told Esther much about the round-ups, she felt quite ignorant of the whole matter. They had explained to her about the free range, how it was divided into imaginary sections, and how the "boss" cattleman would send groups of cow-punchers to each of these various sections to look after the cattle.

John Clayton and Kenneth Hastings returned from the canyon, bringing a can of water, and dry driftwood. They at once began to build their bonfire, and to prepare their evening meal. As they worked, they talked.

"If you watch from here," suggested Kenneth, "you'll see the close of the round-up, comfortably."

"What do they mean by 'cutting out' the cattle?" asked Esther.

"Don't you know that yet?" laughed John Clayton. "That is cowboy slang. As the cow-punchers approach (cow-punchers are cowboys, you know--)"

"Yes, I know that much."

"Well, as they approach you will see them weaving in and out among the cattle, las.h.i.+ng some with their quirts, and driving them out from the ma.s.s of cattle. This is called 'cutting out.' The cattle of different owners all run together on the range until time for the round-ups."

"How often do they have these?" she asked.

"There are two general round-ups, spring and fall; and others, when necessary for extra s.h.i.+pments of cattle."

"How can they tell which belongs to which?"

"By the brand," explained Kenneth. "Each cattle owner brands every one of his cattle with a certain mark, which determines whose property the animal is."

The two women now placed cus.h.i.+ons on the carriage seats, and sat down to watch the close of the round-up.

The sunset was one of unusual splendor, the glory of color falling over the mesa, and the mountain peaks that loomed up far away. As they watched the sky, they spied a cloud of dust in the distance.

"At last the cattle are coming!" exclaimed Mrs. Clayton.

The dust cloud grew, coming nearer and nearer. It had a fascination for Esther. While they were speculating as to the probable number of cattle, and the cowboys and cowla.s.ses who might be with them, Kenneth Hastings and John Clayton sauntered over to the mess wagon to await the closing scene. From that point, the men watched; and from their location, the women watched the on-coming herds. The dust cloud grew larger. The great ma.s.s of struggling cattle came steadily on. After a while, cowboys could be seen, and whirling of ropes. Nearer and nearer they came, the cowboys dealing stinging blows with their quirts. The bellowing of cattle, the cursing of men, and the choking fog of dust, all mingled together, came to the two women, who watched from a safe distance. In their intense interest, they forgot that the supper hour was long past, and watched. They saw cow-punchers, weaving in and out among the cattle, whirling ropes, and yelling, and cursing by turns, until each cowboy had separated the cattle in his charge from the others. It was an enormous task. The men were still cursing and las.h.i.+ng, when the last soft color of the afterglow faded from the sky.

When the work of the round-up was finally over, and the men were free for the night, Esther heard the cook call out to them:

"Grub's ready! Cut out y'r talkin'!" adding profanity, as if to whet the appet.i.tes of the hungry men. Then the cowboys, dirt begrimed, fell to, and were soon eating with a relish that would have made dyspeptics green with envy.

Slowly, John Clayton and Kenneth Hastings sauntered back, finding their own repast ready for them. They, too, had found a keen edge to their appet.i.te. Esther even went so far as to suggest that they might have done well to have accepted the Apache's fish.

"Whom do you suppose we found over there?" asked Mr. Clayton.

"Our boys," suggested Esther.

"Yes, several who have been at the club and at the meetings. They know you are here, Miss Bright. Let's see what they'll do."

Before the meal was over, the stars began to appear in the heavens.

John Clayton threw great quant.i.ties of driftwood on the bonfire, and in a few moments, the flames were licking the logs.

The voices of the cow-punchers came to them now and then, but the profanity had ceased. Suddenly, singing was heard. They listened. The cowboys were singing, "There were ninety and nine."

From the singing, it was evident that the men were approaching the Clayton camp. In a moment more, they were there.

Would they be seated? John Clayton had asked. So, around the camp fire they grouped, their faces and forms indistinct in the flickering light. They made a weird and picturesque group against the darkness of the night.

"An' phwat do yez think now of a round-up?" asked Mike Maloney, of night school celebrity. Mike had been the star pupil in arithmetic.

"Splendid!" said Esther, with contagious enthusiasm. "To see that host of cattle approach, the ropes swinging, the horses rearing and plunging, and the magnificent setting of the mountains at sunset,--why, it was glorious!"

The men grinned their delight.

Bill Weeks then grew eloquent about cattle.

"We come across a herd o' antelopes to-day," interrupted another.

Bill Weeks returned again to his favorite theme. Cattle were his life.

In the midst of a dissertation on their good points, he was again interrupted with:

"Oh, cut that out! Ye kin talk cattle any old day. We wants ter hear Miss Bright sing."

"Yes, sing," all clamored. "_Do_ sing!"

"What shall I sing?"

"'Oft in the Stilly Night,'" one suggested.

But they were not satisfied with one song, and called loudly for another. Then she sang, "Flee as a bird to Your Mountain."

Esther Bright, as she stood and sang that night, was a picture one could never forget.

Then around the crackling fire, story after story was told. The fire burned low. The dome above sparkled with myriads of stars. At last the cowboys rose, and returned to their camp.

"Now we'll heap up the fire for the night, Kenneth," said John Clayton, "and arrange our shakedowns."

"'Shakedowns,' John?" said his wife. "You don't call a blanket and cus.h.i.+on on a mesa a shakedown, do you?"

"Why not?"

Then the two men withdrew to the farther side of the fire. The women crawled into their blankets, and soon felt the warmth of the still heated earth upon which they lay.

"Good night!" called the men's voices, and "Good night!" returned the women. Then silence brooded over the camp.